The Savannah negro went off after his rice-birds,
while Uncle Remus leaned up against the wall and laughed
until he was in imminent danger of falling down from
sheer exhaustion.

1 Underneath. 2 Mouthful.

TURNIP SALAD AS A TEXT

As Uncle Remus was going down the street recently
he was accosted by several acquaintances.

“Heyo!” said one, “here comes Uncle
Remus. He look like he gwine fer ter set up a
bo’din-house.”

Several others bantered the old man, but he appeared
to be in a good humor. He was carrying a huge
basket of vegetables.

“How many er you boys,” said he, as he
put his basket down, “is done a han’s
turn dis day? En yit de week’s done commence.
I year talk er niggers dat’s got money in de
bank, but I lay hit ain’t none er you fellers.
Whar you speck you gwineter git yo’ dinner,
en how you speck you gwineter git ’long?”

“Oh, we sorter knocks ‘roun’ an’
picks up a livin’,” responded one.

“Dat’s w’at make I say w’at
I duz,” said Uncle Remus. “Fokes go
‘bout in de day-time an’ makes a livin’,
an’ you come ’long w’en dey er res’in’
der bones an’ picks it up. I ain’t
no han’ at figgers, but I lay I k’n count
up right yer in de san’ en number up how menny
days hit’ll be ‘fo’ you ’er
cuppled on ter de chain-gang.”

“De ole man’s holler’n now sho’,”
said one of the listeners, gazing with admiration
on the venerable old darkey.